


Not Your Social Secretary

by DizzyDrea



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, May/December Relationship, Romance, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sir," she said after a lengthy pause. "I am not your social secretary. In the future, I'd prefer it if you scheduled your own dates."</p><p>"Dates?" Frank asked. "That was hardly a date, Baker. It was—"</p><p>"A date." She paused. "Sir."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Social Secretary

**Author's Note:**

> So, the McKayla Maroney _not impressed_ look that Abby was giving Frank on Friday's episode was EPIC. And of course, Muse had to write about it. It even outweighed my HOLY CRAP IT'S RIVER SONG moment. Because, really, someone could have warned me that Tom Selleck and Alex Kingston were going to have some serious chemistry going on. And yet, this is what Muse comes up with. /shrugs/ I stopped trying to figure it out ages ago. Just go with it. (Written, edited and posted on my iPad, so I apologize if there are any errors I missed.)
> 
> Spoilers for episode 6.17, _Friends in Need_.
> 
> For the _May/December_ square on my Trope Bingo card.
> 
> Disclaimer: Blue Bloods is the property of Panda Productions, Paw In Your Face Productions, CBS Productions, CBS Television Studios and a lot of other people who aren't me. I'm doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Frank Reagan stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel and took a deep breath. He tipped his head back, staring up into the faded black of the New York City sky at night and tried not to feel the guilt pressing down on him.

He wasn't entirely successful, especially when his driver, Martinez, was watching him expectantly—and maybe a little bit judgy, but it was two AM and he was tired, so that might have been his imagination.

"Home, sir?" Martinez asked, his tone sharp as he held the door to the SUV open.

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been imagining the look on his face, but Frank tried not to hold it against him. Because the guilt wasn't of the Catholic persuasion so much as the female persuasion. And even though he'd showered, the scent of sex and some other woman's perfume clung heavily to the air around him, which only served to intensify the guilt.

"Yeah," he said on a sigh. "Home."

He slipped into the vehicle and tried very hard not to think.

~o~

The temperature inside One Police Plaza was decidedly chilly, even if there was a hint of spring in the air outside. He greeted everyone with the same nods he had yesterday, but the greetings he got in return were something less than their usual enthusiastic.

Baker especially, was cooler than normal, but that might have been his imagination, too. Too little sleep could do that to a person.

Yeah, right.

She followed him into his office as usual, running through a list of his appointments and those people wanting a few minutes of his time. It was all so normal, and yet he felt like there was something off.

He gave her her marching orders for the day, smiling disarmingly when he refused to see two of the people on her list. The smile failed to dent her careful mask of professionalism, which was unusual, but he wasn't going to examine it too closely, for reasons he wasn't going to examine too closely either.

"Anything else, Baker?" he asked when they'd finished with his calendar and he'd settled behind his desk, glasses on and pen at the ready.

"Sir," she said after a lengthy pause. "I am not your social secretary. In the future, I'd prefer it if you scheduled your own dates."

"Dates?" Frank asked. "That was hardly a date, Baker. It was—"

"A date." She paused. "Sir."

Her mask was cold and impersonal, but he could see the firestorm in her eyes, and knew he didn't want or need to open that particular can of worms, now or ever, for those reasons he wasn't thinking about. He sighed, tossing his glasses on the stack of reports he was supposed to be reviewing.

"Noted. Anything else?"

"No, sir," she said. She turned on her heel and left the room just as Garrett walked in.

Garrett spun around to watch her leave, then turned back to his boss and raised an eyebrow. "Care to tell me what that was all about?"

The door clicked shut, startling both men. Frank frowned. "Not particularly, no."

"Did you...?"

"Did I what, Garrett?" Frank asked impatiently. He opened the first report, hoping to short-circuit the entire conversation by appearing busy. Hell, he was the Police Commissioner. He actually _was_ busy.

"I don't know," Garrett said. "But Abby's not usually that... that, not even first thing in the morning. What did you do?"

"I had dinner with Commander Thompson last night," Frank mumbled. "She wanted to know what I wasn't telling her boss. And to apologize for pushing when she'd been told to back off."

"You—" Garrett practically choked on his spit. He narrowed his eyes at his boss. "Who set it up?"

"I had Baker make the phone call," Frank said. He winced as he remembered that conversation. Oh yeah, he'd seriously miscalculated when he'd asked her to set it up. The look she'd given him could have frozen New York Harbor.

"You're the Police Commissioner!" Garrett said, shocked. "How could you possibly be that stupid?"

"I'm also still your boss," Frank said. The warning was weak and he knew it.

"You don't pay me to agree with you, Frank," Garret said. Which was true. "I can't believe you asked her to set up your booty call."

Frank's head jerked up. There was no way Garrett knew what had happened after dinner, but Frank had to concede that his people knew far more about his life—both inside and outside of 1PP—than he'd prefer.

But instead of yelling at his deputy for making such a crass and insubordinate remark, he just closed the file, leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Yeah, I may have miscalculated on that one."

"You think?" Garrett shot back. "The question now is, what are you going to do about it? Because it's only going to get worse from here."

"I'm not going to _do_ anything, Garrett," Frank said. He sat up and put his glasses back on, picking up his pen and re-opening the first file on his desk, hoping Garrett would get the hint. 

Garrett didn't. "You have to do something, Frank. You can't just let this fester. You'll risk losing her, and I think that's the last thing you want."

"Can't lose something I don't have," Frank said, not looking up.

"And that's the problem right there, isn't it?" Garrett asked, although it seemed he didn't expect a response because he just kept right on going, into territory Frank wasn't prepared to discuss—with his deputy or anyone else— _ever_. "Look, we both know what's going on here. Just talk to her. I'm sure if you—"

"No," Frank said, so quietly he wasn't sure Garrett heard, except the man stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open.

"No?"

"No."

Garrett stood silently for a moment or two. Finally, his shoulders drooped. "Okay, Frank. Just don't blame me when you lose her over this. I tried to warn you."

And then Garrett did the very last thing Frank expected: he turned and walked out of the Commissioner's office.

Frank dropped his pen back on the desk and leaned back, swiveling his chair to stare out the windows.

~o~

The week crawled by, each day getting more and more chilly. Sloan Thompson texted, asking if they could meet again, but Frank put her off. His heart wasn't in it, and that was the chief problem. Plus, Baker—no, at this point it was Abby and not his aide—was still giving him the cold shoulder, and no amount of soft smiles and kind words were making a dent.

And worse than all that, he'd spotted what he realized was her transfer request, sitting on her desk partially obscured by a couple of files, when he passed her desk on the way in from lunch on day three.

That she hadn't handed it to him yet gave him hope that this whole mess could still be straightened out. But he knew he was running out of time, and he doubted the wisdom of doing the one thing he wanted to do.

And so he found himself sitting in the semi-dark on a Thursday evening, sipping whiskey and contemplating how his life had gotten to this point. A noise in the kitchen caught his attention, but he figured it was just his father coming back from his dinner with friends.

Instead, his daughter wandered into the room, hands in the pockets of her trench coat. "Hey, Dad."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Erin. I wasn't expecting you tonight. Something I can do for you?"

She wandered over to the sideboard and poured herself a measure of the amber liquid and tossed her coat on the couch before settling into her grandfather's usual chair. "I was thinking maybe there was something I could do for you."

She sipped her whiskey, raising her own eyebrow, waiting.

"What makes you think there's something wrong?"

"Grandpa called me this afternoon," she said. "He seemed to think you were moping. Said maybe I'd have better luck getting whatever it is out of you."

Frank snorted. Yeah, his father had tried talking to him about this. He'd known something was bothering him, but Henry Reagan wasn't subtle, no matter what he thought about himself. He was like a bull in a china shop, especially around emotional issues, so there was no way he was discussing the state of his personal life with his father.

"How's Abby?" she asked. Frank's head popped up. He leveled a narrow-eyed gaze at her; Erin just smiled coyly.

"She's angry with me, and not without reason."

"I'd guessed that," Erin said. "Care to tell me why?"

Frank sighed. He wasn't going to ask how she'd figured it out; she probably had spies in his office, and he really didn't want to know that. He laid it all out, not sparing any details. Of all his children, Erin was the one he'd trust for an honest opinion on this subject. She was more like her mother than anyone gave her credit for, and even though she had a failed marriage behind her—and more than one questionable romantic choice—she had a generous heart and a lawyer's ability to cut to the heart of any issue.

When he was done, he leaned back, exhausted. He hadn't really realized how much this whole thing was taking out of him. 

"Dad, I can't believe you!" 

Erin's outrage made him cringe, but he knew he deserved it.

"It's not like I've never had friends with benefits before," he said. "Do they still call it that?"

"Yes, Dad, they still call it that," Erin said in a long suffering tone. "But that's not the point. No one's expecting you to be a saint or a monk, but to ask the woman who's been in love with you for years to set up a date for you _with another woman_... That's pretty ballsy, even for you."

"I wasn't expecting Sloane to make the offer," Frank said. "It doesn't happen often, but when it does..."

"And like I said, no one's begrudging you that," Erin said. "Especially not your family. We just want you to be happy. After Mom... I guess we all expected you to move on. Maybe not right away, but she wouldn't have wanted you to be alone."

"It's just never felt right," Frank said quietly. "There's never been another woman who could compare to your mother, so I didn't even try. Sex was easy— _is easy_ —as long as it's just sex. Love is something else."

"So, why not tell Abby how you feel?" Erin said. "Clearly she feels more for you than just respect for a colleague or her boss."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Frank said, wincing. "I'm her boss. To say it would be inappropriate would be a vast understatement."

Erin sighed. "The NYPD doesn't have fraternization rules, and even if they did, technically, you're not working for the NYPD. Are you afraid the Mayor will object?"

"Mayor Poole has no say in my personal life," Frank said definitively. Not that the man wouldn't want to weigh in, but Frank had never had any problem putting him in his place. This time would be no different.

"Then what is it?" Erin asked. She cocked her head. "Are you not ready for this? Is Mom's death still too fresh?"

"I will always love your mother," Frank said quietly. "But a ghost can't keep you company, no matter how often you talk to it. It's been a long time—maybe too long—since someone besides my family meant so much to me. But I'm still her boss, an there are still lines I shouldn't cross, no matter how much I may want to."

"Well, she's not going to make the first move," Erin said, taking one last sip of her drink. She set the glass on the side table and stood up to shrug her coat on. "So you have to decide if doing the right thing is worth losing the only other woman you've loved this much." She paused, looking at her father with sadness in her eyes. "I have regrets, Dad. No one alive doesn't. But in the end, it's the things I didn't do that I regret the most. Don't let that be your regret, too."

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, stroking one hand over the other cheek as she turned and made her way out of the house.

Frank sat silently sipping what remained of his own drink, still no closer to a decision but now with a lot more to think about than he'd started with.

~o~

It was late on Friday evening, and Frank was still at the office. He'd abandoned the reports he was supposed to be reviewing a while ago, in favor of standing by the couch, staring out at the New York skyline. Abby had left some hours ago with a curt nod and not much else. It had stung, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that she still hadn't handed him the transfer request.

Sloane had flown back to London earlier in the day, her thank-you text still burning a hole in his phone. He'd thought a lot about regrets after Erin had left the night before. He didn't regret the dinner with Sloane Thompson; she was a forceful woman who only wanted to do the best she could for the people she'd sworn to protect. 

They were a lot alike in that respect. They were a lot alike, period, which was why knew it would only be a one-night stand. He needed someone who challenged him, and while Sloane did precisely that, they approached the world in too much the same way for it to ever work long-term.

Add in the English/Irish thing and the fact that she lived in London, and it was only ever destined to end. Frank found himself wishing it had ended before it had started. 

Because what this dalliance might cost him was perhaps too high a cost to bear.

A sound behind him made him turn his head. What he found nearly took his breath away. Abby stood in the open door, dressed in jeans and sneakers, a trench coat over a grey t-shirt with a light scarf wound around her neck and her hair pulled back in a messy pony tail. He'd never seen anything more beautiful.

It made him sound like a sap, even in his head, but he couldn't help it.

"Abby," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd gone home hours ago."

"I did," she said, nodding, "but I came back."

"I can see that," he said, smiling to take the sting out of the reply. "Please, sit down."

Abby shook her head. "I'll only be a minute. I came to give you this."

She held out a folder, one he knew held her transfer request without even having to look at it.

"No," he said.

Her face registered surprise, frustration, some anger. "Why not?"

She didn't seem surprised that he knew what was inside the folder, and there wasn't any overt hostility in her tone. Just the defeat of knowing that she was in a no-win situation and there was no real way out. Frank Reagan could out-stubborn a mule, which was a well-known fact.

"Because that's not going to fix the problem, and you know it," Frank said. He waved his hand at the couch. "Sit down. Let's talk."

She looked like that was the very last thing she wanted to do, but she took a seat on the side chair, as far away from him as she could get. She perched on the edge of the chair, folder clasped in her lap, radiating tension. 

Frank continued to stand, staring out into the City. Maybe it was easier to say what he needed to say if he wasn't looking at her. Garrett would say it was a power-play; keeping the advantage by putting your opponent in a more disadvantageous position. Maybe he was right, but Frank wasn't going to admit that.

"I can't let you go, Abby," he said. "I need you too much to ever let you go."

And that wasn't what he was going to say. At all. But it seemed his heart had run off with his mouth. Probably for the best, since he hadn't been able to come to a decision using his brain.

"As your secretary," Abby said sadly.

"As my everything," Frank said, once again surprising himself.

When he glanced at Abby, he could see he'd caught her off-guard, too.

He sighed, shoulders drooping ever so slightly. It was time to stop tap-dancing and start owning up to the truth. That wasn't something he normally had trouble with, and he wasn't about to start now.

He moved down the couch, sitting as close to her as he could get. He gently tugged the folder out of her hands and flipped it open, scanning the form for the reason she'd listed for the transfer.

_Intolerable working conditions._

Ouch.

He looked up, giving her a pained smile. "Not holding anything back, were you?"

"Would you rather I lied?" she asked, arching one perfect eyebrow.

"No," he said, sighing. "I'd rather this hadn't been necessary in the first place."

He knew, just by reading those words, that she'd never intended to transfer. Those words entered into the official record would have meant the end of his tenure as PC. Not even the Mayor would have been able to overlook one of his personal staff making such an accusation. She was calling his bluff; he made a mental note never to play poker with her.

He closed the folder and set it on the coffee table. "Point taken," he said, acknowledging her play for what it was. "So, the question is, where do we go from here."

Abby looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I guess that's really up to you."

"That's just it, Abby," he said quietly. "It can't be up to me. I'm your boss. To say it would be inappropriate for me to make any kind of move on you would be an understatement."

Abby looked up, her eyes so sad. Instead of responding, she reached out and took his left hand, her fingers automatically going to the ring still on his ring finger. He wore it now not out of grief for what he'd lost, but as a way to remember the woman he'd loved for most of his life. It was such a natural part of him that he hardly even remembered he was wearing it anymore.

"I can't—I _won't_ compete with a ghost, Frank," she said equally as quietly.

"I loved Mary with my whole heart," Frank said. Abby met his eyes, surprise writ large over her face. He could understand; he never talked about his personal life at the office, unless it was one of his kids and in the course of their jobs. But he needed Abby to understand this. "She was a remarkable woman, and I was privileged to have known and loved her. I wear her ring to honor her and the commitment I made to her and our family, but that doesn't mean I'm still mourning her. She's been gone a long time, and it's past time I moved on from that. I've just never found a woman who could measure up. Until now."

More surprise flitted across her face, quickly followed by trepidation. She covered her face with the hand not holding his—and pointedly not letting go—and groaned. "Oh great. There's no way I'm ever going to hold a candle to your wife, Frank. Just shoot me now."

Frank tucked a finger under her chin and coaxed her eyes back to his. "You are both remarkable, each in your own way. But I don't want a carbon copy of my first wife. I want you."

So much for not making the first move. But apparently, those were the right words, because Abby smiled at him. "You say that like you expect we'll be getting married in the near future. You do know I'm not Catholic, right?"

"Yes, I was aware of that," Frank said, smiling. "I suppose we'll just have to have the Mayor do the honors. I'm sure he won't mind."

Abby's face froze, looking like the proverbial deer in the headlights. "Wait, did we—did you—?"

"No, Abby, we did not," he said on a chuckle. "I'd like to think my romantic abilities haven't withered _that_ far. When the time comes, you'll know."

Abby nibbled on her lower lip, and suddenly Frank wanted to kiss her. He curbed that desire for the moment. Things were still so tenuous; he didn't want to push too far, although if they were talking about marriage, he had hope that things were finally on the right track.

"Are you sure about this, Frank?" she asked in a small voice. "You're not just doing this so you don't have to break in a new aide?"

Frank couldn't help himself; he laughed. He captured the fingers that had still been playing with his wedding band, bringing her hand up to press a kiss to her knuckles. "I would happily let you leave my office if I thought that's what you really wanted. As long as I have you like this, I'm willing to deal with not seeing your face every day when I walk in."

Abby beamed; that was the only word he had for it. "I'm not going anywhere. At least not until you retire. Then we'll talk."

"Then I have your permission to send that through the shredder?" he asked, pointing to the folder on the table in front of them.

"I'll even put it in myself, if that'll make you feel better," she said.

"Nah, I think I'll keep it."

"What the hell for?" she asked, confused and maybe a little hurt.

He squeezed her hand. "To remember what it took to get here."

She squeezed back, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Frank wouldn't kid himself that things were going to be perfect from now on. The temperature in the building would probably go up come Monday. Or, at least he hoped it would. That his staff was so loyal to Abby was a testament to the people he'd hired. He'd just have to remember not to piss them—or her—off in the future.

The family, though, was another matter entirely. Danny hadn't exactly reacted well to the idea of his father having sex; Frank wasn't sure how he'd react to his father having a relationship with a woman not his mother. He wasn't sure how any of them were going to react—well, except for Erin, who'd given every impression of being all for it. 

He wasn't going to try to ease them into it. This was the real deal for him, and he needed his family to know it. Time to rip the bandaid off. Probably past time, but that was a conversation for later.

He tugged Abby until she stood up and relocated to the couch, curled into his side where he could put his arm around her and hold her close. For now, it was enough. They didn't have to rush anything, despite this being years in the making. 

He was definitely going to kiss her before the night was over, though.

"How do you feel about Sunday Dinner?" he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

Abby burrowed closer into his side, tucking her hand inside his vest to rest above his heart. "I'd love to."

~Finis


End file.
